


Spin the wheel of torture

by sepherim_ml



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Boyking!Sam, Community: evilsam_spn, Evil Dean Winchester, Evil Sam Winchester, Incest, M/M, Mention of torture, What-If, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-08
Updated: 2013-08-08
Packaged: 2017-12-22 19:51:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/917375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sepherim_ml/pseuds/sepherim_ml
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a busy day, the King of Hell, Sam, visits his Head Torturer, Dean. He finds him in a foul mood and Sam doesn't hesitate to remind him to whom he belongs to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spin the wheel of torture

**Warnings** : evil!Sam, evil!Dean, mention of torture (off screen and not against Sam or Dean), Season 4 retelling, explicit content.  
  
 **A/N** : Written for the [Evil Sam Summer Challenge](http://evilsam-spn.livejournal.com/158017.html) for the prompt  **“Song of Evil” by Saxon.**  Thanks to [](http://jackfan2.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://jackfan2.livejournal.com/) **jackfan2**  for correcting my mistakes!  
  
  
  
 _Crush the voice of freedom_  
How many will remain  
The devil walks beside you  
\- Saxon, Song of Evil  
  
  
  
Dean is washing his hands when Sam steps inside the room of the tortures. The rack bears the signs of dry blood, the same stains that are dirtying Dean's hands and arms; the same signs and now he's now clinically washing scrubbing from himself.  
  
The flickering bulb light on hanging from the ceiling is the only source of light in an otherwise dark room. Dean prefers torturing in the intimacy of the shadows. He doesn't like public while he's doing his job, he's not an exhibitionist like Alistair, and Sam is his only exception.  
  
When Sam is in particularly foul mood Dean lets him in the room and puts on a show that most of the times ends with Sam pushing Dean against the nearest rack to fuck him senseless.  
  
Today Sam just had a tiresome day. The siege of heaven doesn't proceed as well or as fast as it should be and Crowley plays tricks and games with the Leviathans, instead of following Sam's orders to the letter.  
  
Sam isn't stupid. He's King of Hell for various reasons -- blood, destiny, choice -- and sometimes Crowley considers him as nothing more than still the hunter he met on Earth, eager to free the world from all the evils, not the King that he became years ago.  
  
Sam is different now, however. He's stronger. He's a King. He chose Hell over humanity when he had killed Bobby before Dean’d had has the chance to stop him. Death had given gave him his soul anyway, thanks to god knows what trick Dean had played, but something has changed in Sam.  
  
His soul is burned, tainted and twisted; all his darkest desires whispered in his head with disturbing clarity, showing him not visions of the cage, but parts of him that Sam has always tried to hide under the façade of a reluctant hunter, the loyal brother, the good student.  
  
Becoming King of Hell was easy as pie. He built his reign upon the foundation with bricks made of what Lucifer taught him, what his demon blood suggested, what he really wanted went well. Convincing his brother to join him had been another issue all together. was another pair of sleeves.  
  
"I'm almost ready," says Dean, scratching the blood from under his nails. His voice is stone cold and Sam recognizes this as Dean in his torturer shoes. He's hot and Sam can is already taste the deliciousness of his spread skin while he's pinned on the rack, but there's an edge in Dean's voice that stops Sam from granting his own wish.  
  
No-one can say that Sam has lost all his moral code. He still has something good, reserved just for his brother. When he’d finally broken his brother, using the strongest weapon in his arsenal -- the love Dean feels for him -- Sam can finally got have what he’d longed for all his life; a companion. Brainwashing him was the most painful and the most erotic thing Sam has done did since descending to he descended in Hell.  
  
He’d always wanted Dean for himself since the first time he understood the uses of his dick. There was no way he would leave his brother behind, not when he could have him as his Consort, ruling Hell with him. Dean is his now, and for all intents and purposes, next to him in the chain of command and head of torturers.  
  
"What is it?" asks Sam.  
  
Dean turns around. Drops of water spray wets the hard ground, creating grey smudges on the floor. Never one for gore, Dean was never into gore, his Dean’s torture sessions were nothing like those of his apprentice's, Bela; whom blood creations were are her signature. No, Dean is efficient and practical, every bit of the hunter he had once been.was. He knows well the centers of pain and he toys with them with nonchalance, expert hands and right tools. He can really put on a show.  
  
"I saw dad."  
  
Sam smirks. He approaches his brother, placing a possessive hand on his hip, gripping him tight and appeasing his eyes when Dean instantly deflates, relaxing under his touch. "And...?"  
  
"I tortured him." Dean's voice falters and the ghost of a past passes through his eyes.  
  
Dean is no longer not dad's little soldier. anymore. He's Sam's. He better remembers it.  
  
He tightens his grip on around Dean's flesh, hip, digging his nails deep into in the his nude skin. "You're mine." Sam's voice is a rumble, his power colors his eyes yellow, while the room of torture trembles and settles down.  
  
"I tortured him, I said," snaps back Dean snaps, almost insulted. "What else do you want?"  
  
If anyone else had done that, this someone they’d have been laid to waste; would lay on the pavement, dead or pulverized. But this is Dean and even in his smart ass comments, Sam cannot reserve him the same punishment.  
  
"I want you to have no guilt when you're torturing him."  
  
"I have no guilt."  
  
"Liar."  
  
Dean makes a noise of protest, a tiny refusal that makes Sam almost lose it. "Don't lie to me, Dean." He grabs his jaw. "I can read your thoughts just by looking at your eyes."  
  
He doesn't need tricks. Dean's tell whole is in his expressive green eyes. There's still the memory of their father under his skillful hands, his pristine tools, lead by his personal creativity.  
  
Sam would have been there to assist at the show, look through his eyes to his eldest son as his torturer and his youngest as the ruler of Hell, while Sam is resting peacefully in a corner, watching closely, like the eager child he was when they scored cable tv in one of their cheap motels and the watched National Geographic. was on.  
  
"John is just another damned soul. Nothing more. Right, Dean?"  
  
Dean can take more. The soul of John Winchester is nothing in comparison to what Sam did to rebuild him from the flesh and bones of his brother, the silent follower, to his Consort, his right arm. But if the flicker of a doubt has tainted Sam's perfect creation, then it incurs occurs a prompt response.  
  
There should be nothing left to bind Dean to the life he no bounds to the life Dean has left behind, no voices in his head that whisper of good and bad, no mercy in his actions. There should be Sam and Sam only.  
  
"Yes, Sam."  
  
The kiss is fierce, tongue and teeth, blood spilled from the Dean's plush lips and licked by Sam's tongue. The kiss is an act of dominance and possessiveness.  
  
Sam's big hands are touching Dean's skin as much as possible, almost tearing the t-shirt he's wearing, his arms are enveloping him in a firm cage from which where Dean would never escape.  
  
Dean melts in the act. He shows Sam all his submissiveness, like he does every night when he spreads himself on the surface on which Sam chooses to fuck him and assert his dominance.  
  
Dean's sweet submissiveness is like drug for Sam, juicier than the demon blood or the victories against his opponents.  
  
Dean shudders against him. He grips Sam's white suit and pushes, opening his wet mouth like he wants to enclose everything Sam is willing to give to him. Sam plunges his tongue in Dean's welcoming mouth, thrusting in it like he's thrusting his dick there.  
  
Their bodies slide and press together; Dean's back knocks against a rack and he starts undulating, pushing against Sam's erection, until one hand reaches his dick, still under his pants, and strokes it. Sam groans and takes both of Dean's hands, pinning them over Dean's head.  
  
Then, he proceeds to free their erections. Dean's dick is hard, red and Sam wants to see him splatter his come all over the rack, where just hours ago the his souls of his victims were screaming and twisting in pain.  
  
But this time he wants to have Dean's eyes on his, black as the night, half-closed and lost in pleasure. He can easily fuck Dean later against the same rack, maybe when the rack is occupied by a damned soul. Blood, sweat and come. A perfect painting.  
  
He starts stroking Dean fast, pressing just a little over the tip until Dean is screaming in pleasure, coming all over Sam's hand.  
  
"You're mine,” Sam pants into his ear. “Your body is mine. Your soul is mine. You're all mine, Dean."  
  
He returns to kiss Dean, careless of his brother's shaky breath. "Are you? Are you my bitch?"  
  
Dean has no hesitation. "I am. I am yours."  
  
Finally satisfied, Sam smiles and kisses him again, then he frees his hands and takes a step back, admiring the view: Dean's pants are around his ankles, his dick is still wet and on his face there's the sexiest 'fuck me' expression Sam has ever seen.  
  
But it's still not the time for that.  
  
"Now, spin the wheel of torture, Dean. I want to see you while you're torturing the poor soul of John Winchester. Then, I'll fuck you in front of him."


End file.
